


The Taitaja

by silverr



Category: Original Work
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Background Relationships, Brief Intense Violence, Crush, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Familiars, Fantasy, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Language Barrier, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nonverbal Communication, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Passionate Platonic Friendships, Physical Therapy, Platonic Female/Female Relationships, Prompt Fill, Silence, Snow and Ice, Soul Bond, Supernatural Elements, pinch hit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-01-05 21:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12197871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverr/pseuds/silverr
Summary: A novice forest witch wracked with self-doubt is sent to an icy land where she is inadvertently soul-bonded to a fearless silent warrior.





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Violsva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/gifts).



> Grateful thanks to my beta Bryn.
> 
> I've tagged this story "Brief Intense Violence" due to some descriptions of physical injuries. If that raises any concerns about content that might be problematic for you, I welcome questions before you read. (Contact me at the email address in my profile.)

.

.

fter the dozenth time the wagon's shaking let the blinding white light and frigid air into the wagon, Fern broke a thorn from her herb basket and used it to pin the heavy curtains together.

If only the curtains had been thick enough to muffle the constant chatter from the Greenwardens! If she had to listen to one more conversation marveling over a snow-covered frozen waterfall, or how every village had carved living niches into the mountain, or about far above the treeline they had traveled, she was certain she would scream.

Still, it would be rude to ask them to stop talking, so Fern put her fingers in her ears and tried for the thousandth time to get comfortable enough in the cramped space to sleep.

.

After telling Fern that she was needed in Lowdewton, a faraway mountain village that had come under attack from a raivo, Abbedissa Bouvardia had added, "You have learned to recognize Kavisto's nine thousand gifts by sight and smell. You have learned to apply their essence through touch and salve, tincture and elixir. Yet twice before you have begged me not to send you out." The abbedissa frowned. "I have indulged these requests and twice sent another, but no longer. If you choose not go to Lowdewton, you will be transferred to the gardens. Permanently."

The ultimatum made Fern's throat close up so tightly that she could barely speak. It would be humiliating, to spend her life harvesting herbs for others to use, but why must the assignment be so far from the Greenkype? Woodlands were all Fern had ever known: couldn't the abbedissa see that she would be entirely out of her element in a land of snow and rock? How could she be be of any use in such a place? Surely her knowledge would fail her again.

_… Acacia, choking on her own blood, clawing at Fern in desperation as the spellbomb poison tore her apart…_

Fern swallowed hard. "I want to help our world by healing. Relieving suffering. It is what I have always dreamed of, what I have worked for."

"I am glad to hear that."

"But what if I make a mistake? What if they—" She could not even bring herself to say the word.

The abbedissa might have been thinking of Acacia as well, for her wrinkled face softened. "You have learned all you can from your teachers and your books, but to expand your knowledge and grow into your calling, you must venture from the known into the unknown. Become one with the land and the people."

Fern nodded and wiped her eyes. She knew the abbedissa was right, but the feeling of shriveling like a swathe of dead whispering grass was awful. "I only know a few words of Murre, so if they don't speak Kieli in Lowdewton I don't see how I will be able to get to know them. And how am I to get there? I don't know the way."

Abbedissa Bouvardia pressed her lips together for a moment, though it was impossible to say whether she was suppressing laughter or anger. "Taitaja Fern, you speak as if I am sending you into the mountains alone, but protectors will accompany you to Lowdewton. As for conversing, one of our speakers has been studying there for some time. Now go. Make your preparations. A driver will arrive at the gate just before sunset." She paused. "As for the rest… take heart. I know you will find within you and around you all you need, even if it is as yet ungathered."

 

.

Weaving through the Greenkype's cloisters and hallways on the way back to her room, Fern received congratulations from everyone she passed. How had the news of her assignment traveled so fast?

And then she saw the basket outside her door. Waist high and so big around that her fingertips would barely touch if she hugged it, such baskets were constructed to hold bottles of tincturing liquids and oils as well as racks of the leaves, stems, flowers, and roots used in Rohto, the healing art. The basket, newly woven, still smelled of the riverbank where the flat reeds that made up its walls grew.

Fern lifted the lid. The basket was empty.

She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. Obviously she was expected to take the basket to the Gardens and stock it herself, but how could she know what to take when she didn't even know what sort of injuries she'd have to treat once she got to Lowdewton? She couldn't take _everything!_ Other than the few obvious choices—oxtail and burjar for bleeding, icegrass for fever, oblivionflower for pain, moonglow lichen for mending—there were so many other possibilities! She'd have to pick a wound-cleanser, and something to soothe superficial injuries. And what about poisons? She had to take something for poisons! She wished she'd thought to ask Abbedissa Bouvardia if the assignment was just for battle injuries, or long-term care as well.

The mid-day chime interrupted her churning thoughts.

No, she had to stay calm, and do this. She _had_ to do this. She wanted to do this.

If she didn't do this, her life had no meaning or purpose.

Leaving the basket in the open doorway, she went into her room to pack for the trip.

If she had to be at the Forest Gate by sunset, stocking the basket was her most important task between now and then. If that left no time to bathe or wash her clothes or do the mending she'd been putting off for weeks, well then, so be it. She would have to mend and wash when she got to Lowdewton.

In the corner by the window, on a triangular shelf, a shallow bowl  filled with water held a small flat river stone. On the stone was a ball of moss. Delicate green and orange sporophytes sprouted from one side, arcing toward the light.

Fern picked up the moss, cupped it in her hands, and blew on it. The ball uncurled into a small green moss-otter, who ran up Fern's arm, nibbled at the corkscrew curls around her ears, then rubbed its muzzle on her cheek.

"I couldn't say no this time, Sammal." Fern delicately scratched the lighter green moss under the otter's chin. "So I'm going to go help a village on the other side of the Dividing Mountains."

Sammal made a soft questioning noise.

"No," Fern said, "It's probably too cold and dry there for you."

The otter slipped inside her collar until only a few orange whiskers were visible.

"What, hide inside my shirt the whole time I'm there? Wouldn't you rather stay here and play in the sunshine?"

The moss otter poked its nose against Fern's neck.

"Alright. I'll bring it. Do you want to get in now?"

Sammal made a sharp, dismissive trill.

"Okay, okay, I heard you." She took a small lidded ceramic jar with braided loop handles from her desk drawer, added a few stones, poured in water from Sammal's bowl, then criss-crossed each loop over the ornamental knob on the lid. Supervised by Sammal, she then put the jar carefully into one of the pockets woven into the inside of her basket.

"So, now I'll pack my things, and then we'll go to the garden." Fern folded her clothes into a rucksack, then toed off her green leather slippers, pulled on her one and only pair of thick socks—how was it they had holes in the heels, even though they'd barely been worn?—and fished under the bed for her bramble-boots.

The right boot had a broken lace.

She sat on the bed, considering the faint outlines on the bare walls of her room. Reminders of the things she had taken with her when she'd moved into Acacia's room. Things she hadn't brought back, because she hadn't gone into the room since Acacia died.

Sammal patted her face with tiny otter paws.

"Yes, I know," Fern said as she began to re-thread the broken boot-lace, "and yes, I am happy I still have you."

.

As she'd suspected, it did take the rest of the day to stock her basket. After laying in a full bunches of each of the standard cures, her basket had only been half full. As she'd stared into it, biting her lip, the Elder Tender had passed her and said with a smile,  "They say that if you can lift it with one hand, it's not full enough."

"Oh."

The rosselia buds hadn't opened yet, and the crownleaf was suffering from some sort of mosaic mold, so she had to settle for domeroot and cragbark. They took longer to tincture, but at least they wouldn't wither from the cold. She added riotweed and itchroot to encourage circulation and reduce swelling, fireseed for deep muscle and bone aches, and then went to the Apothecarium to acquire a few jars of string mushroom ointment, used to soothe cuts, burns and bruises.

As the Apothecary handed her the jars she asked, "Stocking your basket for the first time, are you? Need any menstruum or oil?"

Fern nodded gratefully. She'd almost forgotten! She could use any oil or animal fat to make her salves, but the Lowdewton villagers weren't likely to have menstruum—a clear, volatile liquid made by fermenting grain—which was essential for tinctures because it evaporated quickly from the skin once applied.

Once three bottles of the liquid were safely stowed in the padded honeycomb at the bottom of the basket, Fern put Sammal in the jar, took one last look around the Garden, then shouldered her basket and walked alone to the Forest Gate.

It was late afternoon. On the road outside the gate was a garishly-painted curtained wagon being pulled by four massive oxdogs. A matron with a weathered face and a battered broad-brimmed hat sat on the driver's bench. "Lowdewton?" she asked, releasing a puff of blue smoke from her pipe.

"Yes."

"Basket going?"

"Yes?" Fern said uncertainly.

The driver knocked the ash from the pipe, jumped down from her perch, and, before Fern could caution her to be careful with it, swung the basket up onto her shoulder with two fingers, carried it around to the back of the wagon, put it in, then returned to her seat.

Fern hurried to check on her basket. It was upright and undamaged, though wedged so tightly between two stacks of crates that she couldn't budge it. "Would you mind if I made some room so that I can sit back here?" Fern asked the driver, who was refilling her pipe.

"Nope." She didn't offer to help.

By the time Fern had restacked the rolled tents and smaller crates enough to create a cramped niche for herself in the wagon, a squad led by Protector Honorblade had arrived. Honorblade, a brusque woman whose short black hair was beginning to streak gray at the temples, was one of the Greenkype's most famous protectors, legendary for having kept a demon swarm at bay for four days with only her broadsword and a stack of incantations.

Honorblade and her second, a red-haired woman about Fern's age, rode up to the back of the wagon. "You ready to go, healer?" Honorblade asked. "If you've forgotten anything, now's the time to get it."

The instant the protector said this, Fern realized with utter mortification that she had forgotten to pack any bowls or cups for mixing her cures. But she couldn't possibly hold up the journey while she ran and got some! "I am ready to go, Protector," she said.

"Alright then." Honorblade rode around to the front of the wagon. "Head out!"

"That's too cramped to be comfortable," the red-haired woman said to Fern, indicating the inside of the wagon. "You barely have any room to sit. Why don't you take my mount? I can ride up front with the driver."

"No, thank you," Fern said.

"Okay. If you change your mind, let me know."

As the wagon began to move, Fern hugged her knees and tried not to panic or cry as the Greenkype began to recede. Her last glimpse of it was its rooftops briefly blazing red in the setting sun, but then the sun was gone, and both the Greenkype and the forest were swallowed by the dusk.

.

The journey to Lowdewton felt as though it took an eternity instead of days. More than once Fern was tempted to pass the time with mendsleep, but as she was the group's sole healer, she had a responsibility to stay awake and available.

They stopped twice a day; once in early afternoon to eat and drink and relieve themselves, and again late at night to eat and pitch tents and sleep. Night was the part of each day Fern looked forward to the most—the space made in the wagon when the tents were out meant that she could stretch out, her ears unassaulted by the scritch and screech of the wagon wheels—but it was also when she had to fend off Mera, who kept trying to convince Fern to join the card and tile games the protectors played at night. Fern doubted that Mera's friendliness was anything more than simple courtesy, but even so she didn't want to encourage it.

Late in the afternoon of the fourth day, after spending a day and a half in the the frigid heights of the mountain pass, the wagon turned off the main Arostielle road and into deep snow. The oxdogs strained to pull the wagon, so the the protectors dismounted and pushed.

"Stay there," Honorblade growled when Fern made a move to pull on her boots and help push as well. "If you get sick, there's no one to take care of you."

Fern crawled up to unpin the curtains in the front of the wagon. They were approaching a wide wooden bridge over a river; beyond the bridge was a large bare circle of earth, with the charred remains of a bonfire. Beyond the bonfire, a path sloped up and out of sight behind a raised area surrounded by palisades.

They stopped between the bridge and the bonfire.

"Now what?"

"Now we wait," Honorblade said. "They know we are here. Be on your guard," she warned her squad, "but do not make any threatening moves."

The driver lit her pipe.

Fern crouched down in the wagon, hugging her basket and watching through the parted curtains.

It was not long before a group of figures came into sight.

The ones in front carried weapons and seemed to be the village's defenders—although instead of the hammered metal armor of Honorblade and her squad, they were dressed in knee-length garments made of overlapping panels of padded cloth and embossed leather. Shivering in the wagon, she envied their fur hoods and heavy mittens.

As they got closer, Fern was mildly surprised to see that most of the faces were nearly the same brown as her own: she'd thought they would be as pale as snow. Behind the defenders were several elders, and behind them, two younger women came into view. One—to Fern's astonishment both barefoot and bare-headed—wore only a long blue tunic. Spirals decorated her forehead and chin; her arms and legs were the color of heartwood.

"The one in blue is a world-walker," Mera said quietly. "The one next to her is probably our speaker."

Fern assumed that the Mera was referring to the short, energetic figure in an embroidered overall and an extravagant fur hat.

The group stopped on the far side of the dead bonfire, and the short woman came to the front. "Welcome to Lowdewton!" she called out in Kieli. "I'm Tulkki Kirja! You're from the Greenward?"

"We are," Honorblade said.

"Come up to the longhouse," Kirja said. "Receive their hospitality." She then turned to the Lowdewton villagers and said something in rapid-fire Murre.

"I take it the situation is stable?" Honorblade asked Kirja as she led her horse around the dead bonfire.

"At the moment," Kirja said. "Their elder world-walker died six days ago. Sininen—" she indicated the woman in blue—"was her student."

"And the creature that attacked her?"

"In a cave. Most of the defenders are encamped between the cave entrance and the village." Sininen said something in Murre, and Kirja nodded. "It's been quiet since then, so go ahead and get settled. Rest up. I have a feeling it's going to be a tricky fight."

Fern never could have used such an informal tone to someone she'd just met, but Honorblade didn't seem to mind. "Sounds good," she said, clapping Kirja on the shoulder. "Now get me something to drink and tell me about this village."

.

While the driver saw to the oxdogs and horses, the Greenwardens followed the elders into the longhouse.

Past the small vestibule whose double sets of doors were designed to keep the winds out there was a long, wide, high-ceilinged room. Blessedly warm, it was lit by three small fires spaced along the central aisle. On either side of the aisle, raised wooden platforms that ran the length of the building provided seating, sleeping, and storage.

Fern and the others were ushered to seats around the central fire, and were offered bowls of root soup, strips of dried meat, and some sort of alcohol.

Fern, who had dragged her basket inside and placed it behind her on the seating platform, passed on the meat and alcohol, but gratefully spooned up the fragrant soup.

After translating the various toasts and speeches made by the elders, Kirja told the story of the horror that had invaded Lowdewton. "There is a cave, to the northwest of the village, where those that have died are buried so that they can spend the afterlife telling tales to each other instead of to the living. The last time that offerings were taken to their feast, it was seen that the resting places had been disturbed.

'The elder world-walker took spirit form and journeyed there at once, and saw a horrible creature. Fearing that it was consuming the souls of the ancestors, the world-walker tried to banish it, but when it resisted, the world-walker returned to her body, which was being watched over by Sininen and the elders. She told them to send to the Greenward for aid, and warned them not to bury anyone in the cave until the creature had been defeated."

Fern noticed that Sininen had her hands clasped so tightly that her knuckles were white.

"And just as she said this," Kirja said somberly, "the creature, which had tracked the world-walker's spirit back to her body, rose like mist from the earth, took solid form, and killed her."

Fern was horrified.

"So what did they do with her body?" Honorblade asked. "Unburied corpses can attract many unwanted guests."

"They wrapped her in oiled skins and put her in the river," Kirja said. "Fortunately, no one has died since."

Fern thought about Acacia, burning on the pyre. She still hadn't been able to bring herself to take the ashes to the Grieving…

"Taitaja Fern!" Honorblade startled her out of her reverie. "Have you been trained to identify the cause of an attack from a victim's injuries, or not?"

Startled, Fern looked down at her hands. "We study the injuries that are likely to be inflicted by each type of enemy, but that's so that we can prepare cures ahead of time." Her stomach churned. This was not the answer that Honorblade wanted to hear, she was sure of it.

"So you've not seen injuries in the field?" Honorblade asked.

"No."

"Come along and learn, then," Honorblade said. "Examine the body." As Fern started to reach for her basket, Honorblade said, "Leave it. Nothing in there will help the dead."

.

The sun, though dropping fast, was still fairly high in the sky, but provided no warmth. The air was mercilessly cold compared to the cozy warmth of the longhouse: every breath Fern took made her chest hurt. The fur hood and heavy mittens that Kirja had lent her kept Fern's head and hands warm, but also underscored how inadequate the rest of her clothes were for such an icy land.

They had descended from the upper village, then followed Sininen to where two defenders stood guard on the riverbank next to staked ropes that angled into the water. Sininen gave a command, and the defenders quickly pulled on the ropes, dragging an openwork woven sledge out of the water.

There was a long dark bundle on the sledge. Fern moved forward as they carefully unwrapped it, revealing a figure covered with a large blue burial cloth.

"Have they been careful to fish and take water upstream of the body?" she asked.

"Yes, they've been careful," Kirja said. "Sininen is the only one who handled the body; so far she's fine. I've been keeping a special watch on her."

"Could you uncover the body?" Honorblade asked. "Enough for the taitaja to see the wounds?"

Kirja conferred with Sininen. "Fern, stay where you are but do not touch her. Everyone else move back. And be alert. Sini's going to put down some barriers."

Sininen took a handful of white powder from a bag at her waist and carefully inscribed a circle around where Fern stood, then stood on the other side of the corpse and made a circle around herself.

"Salt," Honorblade said.

Sininen bent and carefully lifted the cloth, folding it down to expose the upper half of the world-walker's corpse.

The old woman's eyes were milky white. Her arms had been crossed over a carved staff that had been placed on her chest, only partly covering the brutal gash that ran from her throat to her belly. Both the wound and the center of the burial cloth had traces of a slimy, blue-black ichor.

Fern felt a wave of empathy for the terror and agony that the old woman must have suffered. Careful not to step out of the circle, she asked Kirja, "This happened after her spirit returned from the cave and reentered her body?"

"Yes."

Honorblade asked, "Tell me—as the creature appeared, was there was a smell of rotting seaweed and fish?"

As Sininen pulled the wet shroud back over the old woman's body, Kirja said, "Yes, she says there was such a smell, very strong. Is it important?"

Honorblade nodded. "It is possible that a raivo now infests your burial chamber." She looked grim as the Lowdewton defenders returned the body to the icy water. "My squad will enter the cave in the morning, when the power of darkness has waned, and confirm it." She turned to Fern. "There are likely to be casualties. Will you be prepared?"

"Yes."

As they headed back up the path to the upper village, Kirja ran up to walk beside her. "Sininen said that our strength united will allow us to defeat the creature." Kirja paused, as if waiting for Fern to say something, but then added, "And after she thanked the Greenward for sending knights to battle the evil, she said she was also grateful that they had sent a healer to patch the knights."

Fern knew Kirja had told her this because to Kirja it was a compliment, a sign of confidence in Fern's abilities, but the responsibility made Fern feel as if she had changed places with the dead world-walker, and was now wrapped in darkness, unmoving at the bottom of an icy river.

.

As they climbed the path to the village center, Fern was surprised to see the tents still in the driver's wagon.

Kirja noticed her expression. "Oh, no one's bothering with those," she said. "Everyone sleeps in the longhouse. It's easier and warmer."

"All of us?"

"Sure," Kirja said. "There's plenty of room, as long as you don't mind snuggling."

Fern found she did mind. It was easy for the villagers, or Kirja, with her easy smile, or even Honorblade and her squad—who all seemed to be shield-bonded to each other—to sleep in a pile like puppies, but Fern had slept alone since Acacia's death: being close to others only made her lonelier. "If someone can show me where I could set up my tent," she said, shouldering her basket, "and where I can get a few measures of boiling water, I think I'll get a head-start on preparing the cures I might need for tomorrow."

Kirja looked surprised, but then said easily, "Let me see what I can do. Go wait inside. Stay warm."

Fern stood just inside the longhouse. Honorblade and her squad were already draped all over each other. Without their metal armor, it was almost possible to mistake them for villagers.

Kirja came back, holding a small glowing lantern with smoked glass sides. "Come with me." She led Fern across the central area of the upper village, out past the guards at the palisade gate, and then down to the outer ring of the village.

Their destination was a cottage-sized dome covered with short bristly grass and frosted with snow. Kirja pushed on a small angled wooden door recessed into the side of the dome, and they ducked through.

"This sod house will be warmer than your tent, both for you and for your patients,"  Kirja said.

The light from the lantern shone on a long table set along the right hand wall. On the left were three latticed rectangular frames as big as cots, and a large oval basin of carved stone, nearly big enough to sleep in. The air was even warmer than the longhouse, rich with the aroma of earth and roots. Fern took a deep, appreciative breath. "What is this place?"

Kirja put the lantern down on the table. "I think it's used for all sorts of things. Bathhouse, smokehouse, guest-house, textile dyeing… You said you needed heated water?" Kirja looked around the room as if searching for something. "Oh—over there." She pointed at a small puddle edged with stones in the back left corner. "Ha, Sininen did say that it was the tiniest hot spring you'll ever see." She put her hands on her hips. "So, will this do, or do you still want to sleep in your tent?"

"No, thank you, this is good," Fern said, nodding and looking around as she took off the fur hat and mittens and set them on the table. She set her basket down. There were no chairs or stools, but she didn't need to sit.

"Can I watch?" Kirja asked.

"It will be boring."

"No it won't! It's something I've never seen before."

Feeling self-conscious, Fern took the lid off the basket and began to select ingredients. As soon as she put the first herb bundle on the table, Kirja asked, "What's that?"

"Domeroot and cragbark."

"What's it for?"

Fern sighed. It was going to be like being in class again. "To clean wounds."

As she reached to take a bottle of menstruum from the bottom of the basket, she remembered that she hadn't packed any vessels.

Kirja, unfortunately, was extremely observant. "What's wrong?"

"I'm… going to need six or seven clean, empty cups or small bowls, if the village has any I can use until we're done here."

"Oh, to mix your medicines in? That should be easy," Kirja said. "Do they have to be made of wood, or can they be something else? Stone, crystal, metal? Are there any materials that would be bad?"

"It can be anything as long as it can hold a liquid solvent non-reactively," Fern said. She remembered a joke that one of her teachers was fond of making. "Bowls or cups made of feathers or bread probably wouldn't work very well."

Kirja blinked, momentarily confused, and then grinned. "Anything else?" She pointed at the racks. "Do you want mattresses or blankets for those? Or something to sit on?"

"A blanket, if one can be spared."

"A second lamp?"

"One is fine."

"Alright then. Seven or eight bowls or cups. No bread, no feathers." She left.

Fern exhaled slowly, then took out oxtail and burjar, oblivionflowers and moonglow lichen, arranging them in an orderly row at the back of the table. It calmed her, having these old friends lined up and ready to share their gifts. It made the sod house feel less strange. More like a home.

She took Sammal's jar from the basket and undid the lid. "Come out if you want," she said softly, "but she'll be back soon."

The moss otter climbed out of its jar and crept across the table.

"They need to bring me containers," Fern said. After the otter tilted its head quizzically, she replied, "I'm going to make some cures tonight, so they're ready for tomorrow. The protector thinks there's a raivo in the cave here. Oh, that reminds me." As Sammal watched, she took a small bag of salt from the basket and began to sprinkle it around the edge of the room.

There was a knock on the wooden door. Sammal scurried into the basket an instant before Kirja and Sininen opened it and came in.

"We have bowls and cups!" Kirja announced. "Sininen wanted to watch too. I hope you don't mind?"

"Thank you." Fern put the containers on the table. She felt uneasy about allowing them to watch her work, but then again Abbedissa Bouvardia had encouraged her to become one with the people. She hoped this would count. "Some plants," she said, "are used for direct healing. "

"That's when you hold the plant and transfer its beneficial aspect directly into the patient?" Kirja asked. "I think I've seen that before! It's an amazing power." She spoke a few sentences in Murre to Sininen.

Fern bit her lip. Kirja had seen another healer at work? Who? Would Fern compare favorably? "Yes, that's direct healing. But tonight I'm going to make tinctures and infusions." She took two cups and held them out. "Fill each of these almost to the top with water, please."

While they did this, Fern took three of the bowls. She poured a one-third measure of menstruum into one, and a one-quarter measure of oil into each of the other two.

"Why don't you use water for everything?" Kirja asked as she and Sininen brought back the cups of steaming water.

"Water's only good for infusions," Fern said. "Things you want people to drink."

"Oh!" Kirja said. "So you'll make those in the cups?"

"Yes, once the water cools."

"And in the bowls?"

"Tinctures," Fern said. "Liquids that evaporate after application and leave the skin dry. Ointments and salves remain on the skin and soak in." Feeling awkward, Fern took the bundle of domeroot and cragbark in one hand, then put the fingers of her free hand in the bowl of menstruum. Closing her eyes, she called upon the spirit of the Greenward, upon Kasvisto and Rohto. "I embrace the essence of root and leaf and bark," she whispered, feeling the essences from the bundle flow up her arm like blood through her veins. Across her body, and down into the bowl. As the liquid began to heat up, she took a deep breath and thanked the goddesses, then took her hand out.

Kirja peered at the bowl. "Amazing! The liquid changed color!"

The childlike reaction made Fern smile a little. "It is the same thing that would happen if I soaked the plants in the solvent for a few days." She opened her hand. "But see? They're dry."

Kirja brightened. "Oh! And this way they never get used up?" She began to speak to Sininen again in Murre, pointing to the herbs and the bowls.

Sininen's eyes got big. She asked something; Kirja translated. "So if you have enough of the right liquid, you can make as much of a cure as you need?"

It surprised Fern that Sininen had grasped the concept so quickly. "Yes. Making cures doesn't take as much energy as direct healing, but it does take some, and after a while it's tiring. That's why I'm going to do as much as I can tonight." She covered the tincture with a second bowl; at Sininen's curious look, she explained to Kirja, "The water-based cures won't evaporate, but this tincture will."

"I should bring you a few of the local plants," Kirja said thoughtfully. "There are one or two that have interesting properties."

Fern waited for a moment, hoping that Kirja and Sininen had seen enough and would leave. When they didn't Fern used one of the cups of water to make copperthorn anti-fever tea. It wasn't necessary as a first cure, but as it was almost always needed for aftercare, it didn't hurt to have it on hand—and perhaps watching a second boring procedure would get them to leave.

Unfortunately, it didn't. Nor did the third, an infusion of riotweed and itchroot. Fern had resigned herself to being watched as she made her salves when there was a knock at the door.

"Oh, I hope you don't mind," Kirja said as Sininen opened the door and let in several villagers carrying rolled bedding, two three-legged stools, a large dipper, a second lantern, and two large fur throws. "When Sininen told the elders that you were letting us watch you make cures, some of the defenders asked if they could watch as well."

Fern was aghast. Of course she minded! How dare Kirja put her on display like this?

Kirja read her expression, and said quickly, "I know, I should have asked, but since their lives will depend on you I thought it would be good for them to see your skills firsthand?" She looked entirely contrite.

Fern supposed that she had a point, especially if the villagers knew that this was her first assignment healing battle injuries, but even so she had a hard time keeping the defensiveness out of her voice. "Making teas and salves is hardly a true display of rohto."

"Maybe, but it's still amazing to those of us who can't do it," Kirja said.

Fern looked at the defenders. Most appeared wary, skeptical, even fearful—except for one. An older woman at the back was watching Fern with calm curiosity. Although the woman's face was lined, and there was white hair visible under the brim of her fur hat, there was also a liveliness in her dark eyes, a playfulness that made her seem much younger than the other Lowdewton elders. In fact, though Fern could not explain it, there was something almost encouraging about the woman's expression, as if she were confident that Fern would show her something impressive.

"Tell them I said thank you," Fern said to Kirja, and then, still feeling like a circus performer, she picked up the strand of fireseeds. "From these I will make a salve that will soothe aches deep in muscle and bone…"

.

Preparing the cures for an audience took more energy than she'd expected, though she supposed that anxiety had affected her as well. By the time she was done and the last of the villagers had left, Fern was glad that Kirja had ignored her insistence that she didn't need any bedding. Sleeping on the ground or in the wagon since she'd left the Greenkype hadn't been pleasant, since neither had comfort, warmth, or privacy. This sod house had all three.

Fern took off her boots, slipped out of her outer clothes, retrieved Sammal from the basket, and then crawled under the furs, nearly purring with contentment. She looked forward to waking up feeling fully rested.

And then, even though her body was aching and exhausted, worry would not let her go. She couldn't stop herself from  running through all the possible injuries she might have to heal the following day, what to look for, how to prioritize them… Surface injuries always looked the worst, but it was much easier to tell if they were life-threatening than internal injuries, which were not only harder to treat but almost always fatal. And what about poisons? What if she had not brought a wide enough variety of antidotes? 

Twice she got up, lit the lamp, and reviewed her stores, hoping to still the churning in her belly by touching each and every item. Twice she reassured herself enough to go back to the bed and try to get some rest, but every time she closed her eyes the horrible sense that she had forgotten something essential—or that she would once again forget something essential—returned to gnaw at her. The third time he had the urge to get up she instead wrapped her arms around herself as tightly as she could and forced herself to lie still, staring up into the darkness above her until it descended and buried her in sleep.

 .

She woke to Sammal's frenzied nips at her ear, and sat up with a start. There was a commotion outside. She dressed quickly and flung open the door.

A half-dozen or do Lowdewton villagers were limping toward the sod house. Behind them, Honorblade was shouting, "Hurry, bring them here!"

Fern realized with dismay that the scouting  foray into the cave must have already happened. Why had no one awakened her?

Honorblade turned to Fern. "I hope you're ready for wounded."

"Of course, Protector! Bring them here." Fern tossed Sammal back into the basket, quickly set up the other two racks as beds, and tied on her herb apron. She put oxtail and burjar in the right pocket for bleeding, oblivionflower in the center pocket for pain, and moonglow lichen in the left pocket for mending bone and tissue. Finally, she used a pristine piece of bucketmoss to soak up half the disinfecting tincture.

Mera and a second Greenwarden rushed in through the doorway, carrying one of the Lowdewton defenders, pressing down with blood-covered hands on a brutal slash to the defender's leg.

At the sight of the defender shuddering in pain and shock, Fern's anxiety and doubt drained away. Here was a being in pain.

She needed to alleviate that pain.

Making an entreaty to The Two, Fern grasped the oxtail and burjar in one hand as Mera put the defender on the bed, and then, channeling their coagulating powers, she slid her free hand under Mera's, pressing down against the wound until the blood flow had stopped. She cleaned the wound, then channeled moonglow to encourage the tissues of the defender's body to pull together and rejoin the edges of what had been cut.

"If you're not wounded, wait outside," she said tartly to the defenders who had crowded into the sod house.

It was gratifying to see them hurry out the doorway.

Once the patient was stable, Fern placed an oblivionflower petal under her tongue, then stood and moved to Mera. "Let's see your arm."

"I'm not—" Mera said, as if unaware of the wound.

"Stand still," Fern said, and began cleaning and healing the deep laceration.

Honorblade came in just as Fern was finishing, for the first time looking something other than grim. "Those two got the worst of it," she said, watching as Mera's wound closed to an angry red line. She nodded at the villager. "She looks better."

"Yes. It will take some time, but she will recover. Are there other wounded?"

"Nothing critical that I could see," Honorblade said, "though there might be a few in my squad trying to tough it out with broken bones. Wouldn't be the first time that's happened." She gave Mera a pointed look.

Mera scowled. _"One_ time, Ava. I did it _once._ And it was a small bone."

Honorblade looked around. "This space is too cramped. Next time we'll take the wounded to the longhouse."

"Next time? " Fern asked without thinking. "You didn't defeat it?"

"No," Honorblade said. Her face once again stony, she turned and left. Mera followed her.

Fern sighed. Had she gained a measure of Honorblade's respect for her healing skills, only to lose it all with a tactless question?

She took a jar of the mushroom ointment from the basket and went outside. Four or five of the Lowdewton defenders were suffering from various lacerations. She closed her eyes and tried to spread a Veil of Compassion, a battlefield technique meant to locate wounded, but she had never cast it outside a classroom, and the fact that she couldn't sense anyone probably meant that she hadn't done it correctly. "If you're wounded or hurting," she said loudly, "there is no shame in accepting healing. Dead heroes protect no one."

Kirja repeated Fern's words loudly in Murre as she and Sininen approached. "How can we help?"

Fern handed them the bucketmoss and the mushroom ointment. "Use this to clean and treat the minor wounds. For anything more serious, send them to me."

Back inside the sod house — even with the door open, it was much much warmer than being outside — Fern sat next to the wounded defender and alternated cures until she was sure all the damage to the leg was repaired, then helped her take a few sips of copperthorn tea to stave off fever. After quickly checking for other injuries, Fern put her into a light mendsleep.

Outside, she could see Sininen and Kirja standing so close their foreheads touched, having a quiet discussion. Envy lanced through her at the sight.

Ashamed of herself, she looked away.

There was a step in the doorway. It was the white-haired woman. The sleeves of her armor were stained with blood, and there were splatters on her face.

The sight made Fern's heart jump into her throat. Even though she knew the woman wouldn't understand her, she couldn't stop herself from blurting out, "Are you hurt?"

The corner of the woman's mouth lifted slightly. She made a "follow me" gesture and left the sod house.

Fern took a deep breath and followed.

Outside, the white-haired woman was standing next to a defender sitting on a log. The defender, whose eyes were unfocused, was panting shallowly. Her left shoulder drooped noticeably and she was cradling her left arm in her lap. A broken collarbone, most likely, but Fern would know better once Kirja could ask a few questions.

"Kirja! Over here!" Fern shouted, kneeling to examine the defender, gently pressing her fingers again the defender's right wrist to take her pulse. 

Fern shivered a little as the snow soaked through the thin fabric of her leggings, but then something soft settled over her head.

She looked up. 

The white-haired woman had put her own fur hat on Fern, uncovering a long braid that shaded from white at the top to dark gray at the end. She smiled down at Fern as Kirja hurried over.

"Thank you," Fern said, realizing with a horrible, guilty start that the sudden warmth she was feeling wasn't simply from the hat. Somehow, she knew she was in danger of falling utterly, stupidly, hopelessly in love with a woman at least twice her age, whose name she did not know, whose language she could not speak, and who she would never see again once the monster threatening Lowdewton was vanquished.

She looked down quickly, blinking away tears.

.

After mending the defender's collarbone and wrist and making certain that no one else was hurt, Fern followed Kirja and Sininen to the longhouse, where Protector Honorblade had called a meeting to analyze the encounter. At the far end of the longhouse, Honorblade and Mera sat on the platform to the left of the fire, and Sininen and the white-haired woman on the right.

"Kirja," Fern asked, hoping she didn't sound too eager, "who is the woman with the braid?"

"Braid? Do you mean Nismaya? She's the village's Elder Defender."

 _Nismaya._ It was unexpectedly melodious.

Kirja went on, "And just as reckless as Honorblade. The two of them charged into that cave elbow to elbow." She gave Fern a shrewd look. "Oh, I see."

Fern felt her cheeks tingle with a blush, and was grateful that the orange firelight would hide it.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Kirja pulled something from her pocket and held it out. "I wanted to show this to you in case it's useful."

Fern took it. It was a small piece of lichen, a flat disc two fingers wide, but it was unlike any of those in her basket. Those that Fern had for soothing the body inside and out were mostly gray or gray green; this was a dark blue-violet dotted with spots of pale greenish-white. "I have no knowledge of this variety."

"It looks like the night sky, doesn't it?" Kirja said. "They make it into a drink, Talker's Tea, that's used when they negotiate with other villages. They claim it helps." She leaned closer to Fern and whispered, "I drank some when Sini first started teaching me the dialect they speak here, and I swear I became fluent twice as fast!"

Fern nodded and tucked the lichen into her herb apron. She'd take it back to the Greenkype so that Abbedissa Bouvardia and the others could add it to the Compendium.

Fern sat next to Mera, while Kirja sat next to Sininen.

"Are we waiting for someone?" Fern asked.

"The Lowdewton elders," Honorblade said.

Fern leaned forward a bit and half turned to face Honorblade, propping her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand so that her unruly curls fell over the eye closest to the fire—the better to steal glances at Nismaya.

Kirja whispered something to Sininen, then the two of them smiled knowingly at Fern.

Her stomach twisted with nervousness. She'd never forgive them if they gave her away!

The elders came at last.

"So for those who weren't there," Honorblade began, "let me summarize what we found when we entered the cave this morning.

"My suspicion was correct. What we of the Greenward call a raivo has indeed invaded your burial chamber. Undead creatures that can shapeshift into mist and travel through earth and stone, like many supernatural creatures, they can temporarily be repelled with salt."

One of the elders, after listening to Kirja's translation, asked a short question.

"She asks where it came from," Kirja said, "and how it can be banished."

"A raivo is born of overpowering emotion—rage, jealousy, envy—at the time of someone's death," Honorblade said. "As they do not roam far from the place of their creation, your burial chamber is either where they died, or a place of significance to them."

"So it is, _was,_ someone who died not long ago in Lowdewton? A restless spirit?"

"No," Honorblade said. "Spirits retain some of who they were in life, and so can be put to rest. Or banished," she added. "Raivo are not spirits. Strength and weapons of silver-chased iron are how we deal with them."

After Kirja translated this explanation, one of the elders gestured at Honorblade's sword, and raised an eyebrow.

"The creature sank into the ground before we were in striking range."

Fern wondered how so many defenders had been injured if there had been no battle, but she was not going to further anger Honorblade by asking.

After a brief discussion with Sininen, Kirja said, "What if we forced the raivo into a container or bound it to an object?"

"You can't use a sanctified coffer the way you would with a possessing spirit or demon," Honorblade said. "The raivo's mist form travels through earth and stone as easily as we move through air. Nothing could contain it."

"Not even a container of iron, lined with salt?" Kirja asked.

Mera shook her head. "There would still be the problem of driving it into the container. A spark does not willingly jump into a water bucket."

"What if I used incantations to control its path?" Kirja said. "Herd the mist like sheepbirds do?"

"I didn't know speakers did magic," Fern said.

"Oh we don't, not really," Kirja said, "Not like the things mages and sorcerers do. But the right word, written in the right way, can create a powerful barrier. Sininen and I think that between her world-walker abilities and my scrolls, it could work."

Honorblade shook her head. "I don't know, Tulkki Kirja. Such an untested technique against such a dangerous adversary…"

Fern sniffed the air. Was it her imagination, or was there a faint smell, like rotting seaweed and fish?

An instant later, several things happened simultaneously: Mera and Honorblade began to throw out arcs of salt, a mist exploded from the ground and enveloped Sininen in a swirling pillar of blue-black slime, and two whiplike tendrils lifted from the pillar. One lashed out at Kirja's throat; the other slammed against Nismaya and the elders, knocking them half-way down the longhouse.

And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the raivo thinned onto a mist and disappeared into the earth.

Kirja, her hand over her throat, staggered toward Sininen, who collapsed, her ichor-stained tunic dripping with blood.

Fern rushed to them, seizing everything in her apron. She pressed her free hand against the gaping hole where the raivo had torn out Kirja's voicebox and shouted, "I call upon the spirit of the Greenward! I call upon Kasvisto, goddess of all green growing life, and Rohto, goddess of the healing arts! I beg you, bestow your gifts!" The moonglow and the purple lichen liquefied in her fist, burning as the burjar and oxtail sliced into the skin of her palm. Her arms flickered and arced with green light.

Kirja, her eyes pleading, tried to push Fern's healing hand toward Sininen, but Fern did not stop healing her; instead, she pressed the hand with the herbs against the wound in Sininen's abdomen. Planting her feet firm on the earth, she drew on the power as never before, determined not to lose either of them. She would outheal Death itself if need be…

With Nismaya's reassuring solidity behind her, she allowed an echo of her body  to fall backwards as another echo fell forward, reaching though Kirja and Sininen's bodies to snatch their flickering lights back from the edge of the abyss.

When she had pulled the sparks back where they belonged, she released them. Kirja and Sininen's eyelids fluttered, and their skin warmed.

Fern had just enough energy to put the two women into mendsleep before she faded into darkness, as drained and brittle as a snapped twig.

.

.

.

_ First post 21 October 2017; rev 30 Sept 2018_

_© 2017_


	2. Act II (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fern discovers the consequence of saving Kirja and Sininen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to **Bryn** and **bitfibber** for beta on this chapter.

.

n the soft place just below full wakefulness, images threaded past, leaving misty trails. There were sounds, too—the howl and whistle of the wind, flecks of crackle from a fire, and words, faint and echoing as if those speaking were distant.

"The Greenskype are sending out another tulkki. Should be here in two or three days."

"Good." The second voice was deeper, brusque.

"Leena, Marja, and Sanna will be taking next watch."

The second voice dropped to a murmur. "I hate sitting around, but without a speaker to coordinate the attack, we'll have more than the usual number of injuries."

"Maybe, but she can handle it. She knows what she's doing."

"I don't doubt her knowledge. It's the rest that concerns me. Timidity never healed anyone ."

"Concerned you'll have no one to beat at cards?" she teased.

"Ivy felt like one of us from the first day." There was a pause. "Hard to feel you can rely on someone who'd rather be alone."

"You're right, Fern isn't as outgoing as Ivy was, but we're all strangers to her. And since it's her first time in the field, she's probably more worried about how to keep us alive than about making friends. I think she'll loosen up once she gains more confidence."

"Not going to gain anything if she keeps holding back and hiding."

"She didn't hold back when Kirja and Sininen were attacked."

"True, and that's a different problem. She was so reckless she could have died and left us without a healer . Being reckless is worse than being timid. Knowledge without courage is useless, and so are the dead."

"I think the saying goes _'Knowledge without the courage to act accomplishes little, but the dead accomplish less.'_ "

"I like my version. It's shorter."

The words stung. Fern wanted to curl in on herself, but she stayed still and kept her eyes closed, listening.

The two had stopped talking. There was nothing but wind and fire in the silence.

Fern counted to two hundred before she opened her eyes and sat up. She was in a nest of furs on a platform in the middle of the longhouse. To her left, across the aisle, Kirja and Sininen were sleeping. Ahead of her, at the far end of the longhouse, the Lowdewton elders and defenders sat talking around their fire; fresh earth covered places where blood-soaked dirt had been taken away. Thick lines of white powder were visible at the base of each wall and platform. Salt?

She heard someone come up behind her, and twisted around.

Mera, looking concerned, and Honorblade, scowling slightly. "Are you alright?" Mera asked.

Fern nodded. A twinge in her hand; she lifted it. A bandage, bloodsoaked at the palm. When had that happened?

"They've been resting quietly," Mera said.

Fern knew she was supposed to understand who they were talking about, but the longhouse had become watery, blurred with horizontal lines, and inside her head words flashed and darted like minnows. "Need." Her voice sounded wrong, reverberating with a slight echo. She swung her legs off the edge of the platform and looked down at her bare feet. Something… what? Snow. Outside. "Boots," she said, relieved to have found the word. "And…" She moved her hands up and down in front of her chest, her tongue unsure.

Honorblade shrugged at Mera. "Do you have any idea what she wants?"

"Coat?" Mera suggested.

Fern shook her head, then swayed as a ripple of dizziness rolled over her.

"Oh, maybe she wants this." Mera reached behind Fern and lifted the herb apron into view. The fabric was dark and stiff with dried blood and ichor. "Do you need to restock it?"

Fern thought she heard someone call her name. There was a sliding sensation and slight pressure on her wounded hand, as if someone had put their hand over hers, but when she looked down there was nothing. No one was touching her.

"Stay here," Mera said. "Tell me what you need, and I'll get it."

"No." She couldn't bear the idea of anyone opening her basket, touching her herbs, disturbing Sammal, but if she said any of this it would be one more thing for Honorblade to disapprove of. "No, I—I have to do it. You don't know them."

The bitingly-cold pre-dawn air cleared Fern's head with every breath, and the further they walked from the long house the more in command of herself she felt.

Mera and Honorblade walked on either side, each with a torch in one hand and a fistful of salt in the other, but only wind-swirled ice crystals rose from the snowy ground.

The sod house was empty: the defender with the injured leg was gone. "You moved her?" Fern asked as she set the blood-stained apron on the work table and lit the lantern.

"Ilda?" Mera asked, while Honorblade said, "She walked up to the longhouse a few hours ago."

"Ready to get back into it," Mera added, glancing at Honorblade. "Completely healed."

Fern wasn't sure if she was expected to respond to this—every reply she could think of could be taken the wrong way—so she said nothing. She donned the spare apron from her basket, then quickly picked up a small piece of moonglow lichen, a few oblivionflower petals, and a sprig of copperthorn for fever-fighting tea. After sneaking in a quick pat to Sammal's moss-ball, she closed up the basket, tucked the herbs into the apron pockets, and took an empty cup from the table.

The walk back was uneventful. Fern had a moment of hesitation as they approached the longhouse—was something inside going to make her fuzzy-headed again?—but when Honorblade gave her a puzzled look she went in.

As they entered the longhouse, Fern noticed two defenders curled together in the center of the sprawl, the shorter one's face pressed against the back of the taller woman's neck.

_… it was the happiest time of each day, when they settled down to sleep. The other students assumed the two of them were lovers, but that didn't matter; she and Acacia knew what they were to each other…_

She wondered if Nismaya was among the sleepers at the far end of the longhouse. She didn't see her, but she supposed that was to be expected. Now that the raivo had struck twice, the defenders would want to be extra vigilant in keeping everyone safe until reinforcements from the Greenkype arrived. She understood this, and yet she also hoped that Nismaya would come back soon. The simple fact of her absence was causing an ache in Fern's chest.

Fern handed the empty cup to Mera. "I need this half full of drinkable water. For medicinal tea."

Mera nodded and hurried away.

Kirja and Sininen were still deep in mendsleep; neither was feverish or clammy, their hearts beat steadily, and their breathing was slow and deep. After quietly reciting the Invocation, she used the moonglow to apply additional deep healing.

Kirja opened her eyes. "Sini…?" Her voice was a raspy whisper, and she winced.

"She is strong, and healing quickly," Fern said. "As for you, your voice will take time to recover fully. Save your words for what is important."

Kirja nodded, reaching over in search of Sininen's hand.

"As soon as Mera brings water I'll make a tea," Fern continued. "Take a few sips every time you wake. If the pain becomes too much, I can give you something to numb it."

Kirja mouthed _thank you_ , then closed her eyes

Fern was not sure what to do next. _I'm trying, Abbedissa,_ she thought, _even though I have no idea what I should be doing._ The two didn't seem to need anything else, but what if she was wrong? What if she had missed something, some internal injury that would kill slowly and inexorably? Should she try to cast a Veil to detect it? She realized with a sick, guilty feeling that it was only because she had not taken her apron off after treating the villagers that she had been able to save Kirja and Sininen after the raivo attack. She made a firm mental note to always wear an apron, and keep it stocked.

Kirja had fallen back asleep.

Fern put her head in her hands. And when should she herself sleep? As the only healer, shouldn't she be ready to take action the instant someone was injured? But if she delayed too long she'd be exhausted, and that would lead to mistakes.

While she waited for Mera to return with the water, she glanced over at the Lowdewton elders. Their wrinkled faces and dark eyes were faintly disapproving, as if they were blaming _her_ for the attack.

Fern tried not to let it bother her, but anger started to gather behind her teeth. Had the elders forgotten that the creature had manifested nearly a week before Fern's arrival? She was tempted to remind them of this, but as the elders didn't understand Kieli, there was little point. Then too, with Honorblade standing nearby, Fern knew her comments would be reported to Abbedissa Bouvardia. Unfavorably.

Mera returned with the cup, icy cold from freshly-melted snow. As Fern took it she felt a chill run down her chest, as if the water had been poured inside her shirt, and her vision filled for a moment with what looked like dark smoke retreating from a nearly-blinding flash of white.

"Is something wrong?" Mera asked.

Fern shook her head. She'd hoped that her earlier thinking and vision problems had been a temporary aftereffect of the battle, but it seemed they weren't. She could imagine the look on Honorblade's face if she claimed that something in the longhouse was affecting her—Honorblade would think it was more standoffishness—so she kept silent.

As it was, Kirja and Sininen were doing well enough that there was no reason to stay in the longhouse and watch over them. She took out the copperthorn and began to make the infusion without bothering to warm the water. "Make sure they take a few sips of this each time they wake," she told Mera.

Honorblade scowled slightly. "You aren't going to stay here?"

"No, I'm going to go," Fern said. "Take some time and do… inventory. Mix cures. Wash the other apron." _Go somewhere I won't feel constantly judged,_ she added silently as she tucked the herbs back into her apron and dried her numb fingers.

"I'll escort you," Mera said.

"No need," Fern said. "I know the way."

.

Once again, she felt better the moment she stepped out of the longhouse. The sky was growing lighter as dawn approached, and the wind was less aggressive. The sky, which had been overcast since she arrived, was clear, and the stars in the folds of Night's Cloak winked and rippled.

Fern stood next to the guard at the longhouse door, took a deep breath that stung her nostrils, and held it as she imagined all the fuzzy blurry malise inside of her dissolving into her breath; when she exhaled she pictured a stream of dark smoke leaving her body. Twice more she did this, pretending not to notice the guard's amused scrutiny, and then set off briskly across the faintly luminescent snow and down the hill towards the sod house.

Trickles of fear uncurled from her chest and belly as she realized how foolish it had been to decline the offer of an escort.

Only a dozen or so steps from the sod house she broke into a run, panting with relief once she was across the threshold. She half-laughed as she hurried to turn up the lantern on the worktable. "I'm an idiot," she said, hearing Sammal's questioning chirp from inside the basket. She closed the sod house door, then lifted the lid.

"It has to be something in the longhouse," she said as she took an empty bowl and knelt next to the tiny hot spring. "Nothing happens during the day, when people are going in and out and letting in fresh air, but overnight, as the fires burn low…" She started scooping hot water and pouring it into the stone wash tub. "Maybe something in the smoke? There's always a haze."

Sammal was hanging over the top of the herb basket like a chatty neighbor.

"I suppose the villagers have become accustomed to it, so it doesn't bother them." She added more water. "It's a reasonable explanation, except that I'm the only Greenwarden who seems affected." She stood, leaving the water to cool, and then went to the table to clean out the apron's pockets. "Then again, even if any of the others are, they probably won't come to me."

Sammal made a dismissive _tut-tut_ sound.

"You didn't hear Honorblade. She said I was timid and reckless and unfriendly. All because I don't want to play children's games around the campfire."

The moss otter made a sad, sympathetic coo, and climbed onto the table to pat Fern's arm.

The right pocket of the soiled apron held only a few sticky crumbles of burjar and oxtail. The oblivionflower petals in the center pocket were varnished with blood, but Fern carefully peeled them off the cloth and set them aside. Oblivionflower was one of the few herbs consumed in the healing process, and with no idea when she would be able to replenish her supply it seemed wise to save every petal.

The last pocket had the strange blue-violet lichen Kirja had given her, a tiny piece no bigger than her fingertip . Much smaller than what Kirja had given her. Fern eased it out onto the table. She had a vague memory of grasping the fungus along with the moonglow lichen, and of feeling something liquid in her hand as she squeezed, but she'd assumed that it was blood from the cuts the oxtail grass always made. What if it was not?

Fern unwrapped her bandaged hand, and stared at the scabbed-over cuts on her palm as if they hid a secret. The fungus was used for Talker's tea, Kirja had said. Communication. It certainly hadn't done that for her; if anything, when she'd awakened in the longhouse she had found communication _more_ difficult. Even without the distraction of blurry vision, her speech had been so affected that simply forming words had felt as if she were slogging through icy mud. Had she had vision or thinking problems during the fight? She couldn't remember anything except how Nismaya had grounded her as she had reached down and snatched Kirja and Sininen's life sparks back from the darkness. The older woman's steady presence had been so reassuring.

 _I want this danger to be over,_ Fern thought. _I want to be near her, get to know her better. I would even sleep in the longhouse, if I could sleep next to her. I would feel so safe._

As this thought washed through her, she felt ashamed of her selfishness. First she'd put off taking Acacia's ashes to the Grieving because that would have meant saying goodbye forever, and now she was regretting not doing so simply because she wanted to spend time with Nismaya without feeling guilty.

She shook her head. This was not the type of person she wanted to be. It would be different if she had done the right thing before leaving the Greenkype, shown the proper respect for Acacia, received the Radiant Mother's blessing to move on; if she'd done that, she'd now be free to…

Do what? Hopelessly chase someone who might misunderstand her interest?

She took the apron to the washtub and, squatting down, spread it on the water, then pressed it down with her unbandaged hand to soak.

As the apron sank, the lantern on the table spilled just enough light across the surface of the water to sow tiny shimmering crescents. The sight recalled warmer, happier days, a lazy afternoon spent eating summerberries next to next to a sunlit pond… but as soon as Fern's attention drifted, a draft skittered around her throat, cold air stirred her hair, and ice crystals stung her cheeks.

The golden memory vanished in an instant, replaced by terror.

Holding herself absolutely still, Fern's eyes darted around the room, expecting to see mist rising from the ground. There was a sudden movement, just at the edge of her vision: Sammal. The moss-otter had crawled out of the basket and was now perched on the edge of the table, holding the tiny piece of lichen, bobbing up and down in concern.

At the sight, a more reasonable part of Fern's mind pointed out that not only was Sammal not afraid, but there was no smell of rotting seaweed and fish in the sod house. _I'm safe, I'm safe, I'm safe_ she told herself over and over, forcing herself to stand, get the bag of salt from the basket. With Sammal on her shoulder, she added a second line of salt all around the inside of the sod house, then sprinkled a circle around one of the cots and sat down, hugging her knees to her chest. Honorblade was right. She had no courage.

She rested her chin on her knees and closed her eyes.

It was as if she had instantly entered a dream. She was outside, following a path that snaked back and forth through a thicket of inky tree trunks. She emerged into a clearing; ahead of her the faintly luminescent snow stretched toward a dark rounded shape. She turned her head; to her left, up a small hill, the barricade that surrounded the center of the village was just visible; above it loomed the dark, slanted mass of the longhouse roof, the ventilation slits glowing like far off sunsets.

She looked away from the longhouse, toward the dark rounded shape—the sod house—and began to move again, her footfalls crunching on the snow. She had an almost overpowering sense of protectiveness and determination.

Fern opened her eyes, but now the dream blended with her waking. The lantern and the table were in the middle of the sod house door; snow covered the cot; she was both warm and cold, still and moving. She hugged herself tighter as she pushed the door open.

A small brown figure with corkscrew hair sat huddled on the cot; Nismaya appeared in the doorway, the lantern-light making a stark landscape of her face.

Feelings of fond tenderness and confusion, and the wordless thought _she sees me_ passed through her.

She closed the door.

A sour taste rose in Fern's throat, and she closed her eyes.

She saw only her own face as Nismaya approached her and knelt at the foot of the cot. Her eyes, the greenest thing she had seen since entering the mountains, made her feel homesick, but her nausea receded.

"What's happening?"

She looked so miserable that she wasn't sure if it was herself or Nismaya that reached out

She opened her eyes. Nismaya was between her and the lantern; she saw her own face over Nismaya's as if rising out of dark waters, as if reflected in a dark mirror.

Nismaya raised her hand, and put it over her eyes.

As she did this Fern now saw only Nismaya's face, and understood. Somehow, she had been seeing through Nismaya's eyes as well as her own.

Keeping her eyes covered, Nismaya raised her free hand and pinched at the skin of her jaw.

Fern felt it as well; somehow, they had become one. It should have been distressing, but instead she felt relieved. However it had happened, it probably was not due to the smoke of the longhouse, and thus explained why the other Greenwardens hadn't come to her with their vision problems. They simply weren't affected.

But then Fern wondered if Nismaya was experiencing the double vision. She must be: why else would she have come to the sod house and given the little demonstration?

Fern was horrified. For her the situation was only disorienting; for a warrior like Nismaya it might be dangerously distracting. Why had it happened? _What had she done?_

As she closed her eyes and began to cry she heard Nismaya get up, felt her feel along the edge of the cot and then sit down next to her and hug her. Nismaya rocked slightly and made a comforting hum deep in her throat, the way Matami used to when Fern was a child.

It was the first time since Acacia's farewell that anyone had held her, and Fern sank into the comfort of the odd sensation of holding herself. She cried for Nismaya, for herself, for Kirja and Sininen, for the elderly world walker and her gutted body, for Acacia… When the tears finally stopped, Fern wiped her face. "I guess we'll have to take turns looking at things," she said. It was hard to keep her eyes closed; she felt along the hem of her tunic and started to tear a strip off to use as a blindfold.

Nismaya pulled her hands away, folding them instead around the handle of a dagger she pulled from her boot.

Fern pushed it away, and watched herself shake her head. "No. I don't know how to use it. Just... be careful. And come back soon."

Nismaya gave a little sigh that said, _Yes, I know. I understand. I will._

Fern watched as Nismaya brushed her hair back, took Fern's face— _my face_ —in her hands, bent and pressed her forehead briefly to Fern's, then picked up her dagger and left.

As soon as the door was closed Fern got up from the cot, groped her way to the table, and shuttered her lantern so that she could sit in with her eyes open in blessed darkness.

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_first posted 31 March 2018; revised 6 April 2018_

© 2017, 2018


	3. Act II (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fern watches as Nismaya and Honorblade attempt to prevent the raivo from taking any more lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to **Bryn** for beta.

utside the wind was still, but the pre-dawn air was cold as a knife. The sky, usually overcast with clouds, was clear, shading through a dozen hues of velvety blue; the light from the as-yet-unseen sun already tinting the snow. It was, in truth, beautiful, and she felt an expansive emotion—pride? hope?—that she didn't understand. Was it that the scene was such a change from the relentless white and gray and dreary brown, or was it because she was seeing through Nismaya's eyes?

Several defenders met up with her as she walked toward the longhouse. One of them spoke a few words of Murre. It was disorienting to hear words that she _knew_ she understood, yet also to have no idea what they were.

A sleepy-looking villager sat on a small wooden bench in the space between the inner and outer door of the longhouse. Nismaya put her hand on the woman's shoulder for a moment, and they smiled weakly at each other. Through the outer door of the longhouse, past the sentry, then through the inner door.

Inside the longhouse, the Greenwardens still occupied the space around the fire closest to the entrance. On one side, three protectors—including Ilda, the one whose leg Fern had mended—slept sprawled like a pack of hunting dogs, their weapons fanned within easy reach in an arc around them. On the other side, Honorblade was reading a small book while Mera and one of the twins played twigs-and-pebbles on a battered game board; they looked up as Nismaya and the villagers entered, then went back to what they had been doing.

Just past the first fire, Nismaya pushed back her fur hood and gestured to her defenders to stay, then walked down towards Kirja, who was sitting near the middle fire helping Sininen drink the tea Fern had left. Nismaya gestured to them, and they followed her back to where Honorblade was waiting.

Nismaya knelt, then held up her dagger to Honorblade as if pledging her services.

"I understand," Honorblade said, "but I feel it's best to wait for reinforcements."

One of the defenders said something that sounded angry. Fern could feel Nismaya's impatience, but who it was meant for she couldn't tell. Honorblade looked to Kirja, who bent down and wrote in Kieli in the earth next to the fire, _Are we to do nothing but sit in circles of salt awaiting death?_

"We've already placed wards at the mouth of the cave," Mera said, "to stop it from leaving that way, but the mist-form is harder to control."

Kirja wrote something in Murre.

Fern found it infuriating. If only she had access to Nismaya's understanding of Murre, she could function as speaker until Kirja was healed! Or at least follow the conversation. Then again, it might be for the best that the Murre was being written and not spoken, if there was a possibility that the raivo was listening.

Nismaya lifted the dagger, plunged it upright next to the words, then made a circling motion.

"Interesting, but impractical," Honorblade said. Was she being more terse than usual?

Mera seemed to pick up on this as well. "Spikes?"

Honorblade shook her head. "Rock."

 _Not burial or offering rooms,_ Kirja wrote.

"It will break the ancestors."

Kirja translated this for Sininen and the villagers, and then wrote Sininen's reply: _Bones are less important than memories, or the fate of the living._ Kirja drew a line beneath this, tapped her chest with the top of the stick, then added _No bones in offering room._

Honorblade looked thoughtful. She casually took Kirja's stick and wrote _raivo in burial?_

Kirja nodded.

 _Lure and trap in offering_ Honorblade wrote, then handed the stick back to Kirja. "Not acceptable." She made a sweeping motion from her elbow to her wrist, then shrugged and made a _What can be done?_ face.

Mera bit her lip, then clearly had an inspiration. She held her hands out, splaying her fingers, then interlaced her fingertips and cupped her palms, as if holding a large bowl.

Honorblade nodded, and made a gesture of approval.

Fern thought she understood the general idea. Nismaya and the villagers wanted to keep the raivo from attacking anyone else until the Greenwarden reinforcements arrived, so they were… working out a way to encircle the raivo with spikes? Placing the spikes straight down wouldn't stop it, as it would only force the raivo to dive a little deeper when it took mist form to leave the cave, but angling the spikes inward, toward the center of the circle, would create a barrier to descent. In addition, above ground, the tops of the spikes would form a ring of iron that the raivo could not cross.

It occurred to Fern that the success of this plan depended on making the cage of spikes small enough that the raivo couldn't slip between the bars, but that seemed impossible. Not only did the creature have a long reach, but it would hardly stand still in one place and allow the villagers to construct a trap around it.

Mera voiced Fern's thought. "Proximity."

"Imperative." Honorblade raised an eyebrow.

Sininen, who had been watching Kirja write words and listening to Honorblade speak as if she was actually following the puzzling conversation, suddenly turned towards Nismaya, whispered something that Fern of course didn't understand, then took off her necklace.

Nismaya tensed.

Kirja looked stricken, as if what Sininen had said or done was shocking.

Sininen, determined, held the necklace out and shook it until Nismaya hesitantly reached out and took it.

The necklace itself was nothing special. The pendant—an oval blue stone the size of an eyelid suspended between two short twigs of metal—was threaded onto a thin cord of new leather. What did giving it to Nismaya signify?

Honorblade said, "Unfortunately," in a flat, defeated monotone. "Nothing more to discuss." Her expression, however, completely contradicted these words: after reading the most recent words that Kirja had written—which Nismaya wasn't bothering to look at—Honorblade looked almost eager.

Fern knew she had missed something important, but at the moment all she could do was sit in the dark and wait for Nismaya. Frustrating, having to see and hear without being able to affect anything… although when she saw Kirja reaching for a coat—pantomiming that she'd accompany the villagers and the Greenwardens—she was relieved to see Nismaya shaking her head, as if she felt Fern's objection.

"I agree," Honorblade said to Kirja. "They don't need you." She indicated Nismaya and the villagers. When Kirja made a face and reached for her dirt-writing stick, Honorblade added, "That's an order, tulkki. I want you to stay put. Both of you. Drink your tea."

Outside the longhouse, a Greenkype protector and a Lowdewton defender were doing calculations on a slate. A moment later, Mera and a protector came into view carrying a long wooden crate. Behind them, from another part of the village, the Lowdewton smith—and Fern _knew_ she was the smith even before she noticed the woman's leather apron and powerful shoulders and upper arms—approached with four small hammers.

Mera opened the crate and poured the contents of a tiny vial over the tips of the spikes.

The calculations were complete. The defender clapped her hands for attention, then gave a silent demonstration. First she held her hand flat, palm down, and shook her head _No;_ then she angled her hand slightly, nodding vigorously until the defenders laughed and nodded as well.

A few moments later, another woman appeared with four large, quiver-like bags. After each quiver was filled with spikes, it was shouldered by a defender.

The group set off on a narrow path toward the woods; beyond them, the steep cliff face was turning gold with the rising sun. Fern was struck again by how different it was to see through Nismaya's eyes. Having grown up in the flowered green lushness of the forest, naturally she had found the cold monotones of the mountains ugly, but somehow, the longer she looked through Nismaya's eyes, the more she was beginning to see beauty in Lowdewton. It wasn't just the austere contrast of the leafless, black-trunked trees against the snow—and how did the snow itself suddenly have so many subtle variations?—but the faces of the villagers as well. Did they really appear stronger and wiser and kinder than other people she had known, or was it simply more noticeable because there were no flowers or birds or butterflies to distract the eye?

Honorblade said just before they entered the woods, "Wait here." She ran toward the sod house.

Fern had just enough time to turn up the lantern and set out a few bottles and herb-bundles on the table before Honorblade opened the door and Nismaya's view of the woods went dark.

"What are you doing?" Honorblade asked.

How could the protector-general make her feel so guilty, so quickly? "Waiting until I am needed," Fern said. Remembering the Honorblade's earlier criticisms, she added, "Am I needed? Should I come with you?"

"No."

Fern knew Honorblade meant 'not yet,' but it was difficult not to take it as 'not at all.'

"Go to the longhouse," Honorblade said, her hand on the door. "We cannot spare anyone to guard you here."

"I'll be fine," Fern said. "I put down plenty of salt."

Honorblade scowled, but left.

As soon as the door was closed and Fern saw Honorblade running back toward Nismaya and the rest of the group, she shuttered her lantern and sat down to watch.

.

Three protectors and several villagers were guarding the cave entrance, which was at the top of a ramp of pieced stone.

Nismaya did not go up the ramp; instead, she walked to the side, and slipped into a much smaller, nearly hidden opening. After only a few steps in it became so dark that Fern could only tell she was moving from the soft shuffling of footfalls and the occasional whisper from the defenders following her.

Fern found it strange that even though the cave was out of the wind, it grew colder the further they went, as if warmth was an affront to the dead, or perhaps something they drank greedily. The air stung Nismaya's nostrils with each breath.

At last they neared the end of the tunnel. Ahead, Fern glimpsed a large chamber, faintly lit. Long niches carved in the walls held plates, tiny boxes, and small lumps of something glowing. A luminescent substance on the walls and ceiling provided more light, and Fern wondered what sort of algae or mold it was before realizing that this must be the offering room. Through this, and they would be in the raivo's lair, the burial chamber.

Fern's stomach twisted with fear. She hoped Nismaya couldn't feel it, but Nismaya gently rubbed a comforting circle as she turned and gestured to the defenders to stop moving, then stepped back from the entrance to the offering room.

Honorblade and Mera took her place, crouching low before moving noiselessly into the room, melting along the walls like shadows until they took positions on either side of the archway.

Fern felt Nismaya take a deep breath, pull the necklace from her pocket, and then step into the room. She held the necklace at arm's length, letting it swing slightly, and waited.

A sound and movement in the darkness. Fern's heart began to pound, and she clenched her fists.

The raivo emerged.

At first it was smaller than it had been in the longhouse, not much taller than Nismaya, but only for an instant; then it roared and grew, brushing the ceiling, arcing forward, toward Nismaya, toward the necklace, a putrid, malevolent wave.

Fern gasped, shrinking back on the cot, barely registering that there was movement behind the raivo until a column of light burst up from the floor of the chamber.

The raivo was frozen, encased in light.

"Go!" Honorblade shouted. "Quickly! This won't hold it for long!"

The four defenders with quivers ran forward past Nismaya and frantically began pounding in the iron spikes just outside the perimeter of light.

Nismaya shoved the necklace into a pocket and drew her dagger.

Fern was overwhelmed by her ferocity. It was exactly how she wanted to feel, and how she wanted someone to feel about her. To be that strong—able to protect not only those important to her, but everyone around her!—and at the same time also to be encircled by strength, to feel secure knowing that nothing could hurt her.

"Hurry!"

Nismaya stepped aside as two of the defenders, their quivers empty, jumped up and ran behind her into the tunnel.

Fern could see Mera from the edge of her vision. The protector, grimacing with effort, stood holding a scepter-like staff of light, although even as Fern watched the light was beginning to flicker and fade.

A third defender sprang away an instant before the column disappeared.

The raivo lashed out, slamming the defender against the wall, then twisted and reached for Mera even as Honorblade and Nismaya hacked and stabbed at it with sword and dagger.

Mera struggled as the raivo picked her up and squeezed; Fern heard the sound of cracking ribs.

"No!" Honorblade's left hand was ablaze: she drove her fist deep into the raivo.

It dropped Mera and howled. Nismaya rushed forward and dragged Mera into the tunnel—Fern was horrified at the extra damage moving her so roughly could be doing—and then raced back in to aid Honorblade.

The protector was losing the battle. Her left arm was now engulfed up to the shoulder. Her right arm was incapacitated by a tendril around the wrist, and a second, ropelike tendril was around her throat.

Nismaya stabbed at the tendril around Honorblade's throat, then threw the necklace past the raivo into the burial chamber.

The monster let go of Honorblade and reached with all its mass toward where the necklace had landed. Unable to cross the barrier of iron, it screamed.

Nismaya had almost pulled Honorblade to the safety of the tunnel when there was a shouted warning.

Too late. Fern saw the raivo filling Nismaya's vision, and then all went dark.

Fern bounded from the cot and, hands shaking, began to set out cures. She didn't fully understand the metaphysics of the iron spike trap or the spells used, but she was sure that if it hadn't worked, if the raivo had broken free, none of those who had gone into the cave would be returning.

Fern felt her throat start to close up with despair, and tears welled up.

She angrily wiped them away. "I am neither timid not reckless," she whispered fiercely. "I will not lose her. I will not lose _any_ of them." Abbedissa Bouvardia had said, _"Become one with the land and the people. Find within you and around you all you need, even if it is as yet ungathered."_ In a way, she had already done that, however accidental it had been, however briefly she had experienced it, and so she would use that knowledge.

Fern kicked off her boots and curled her toes against the packed earth. "Spirits of the Greenward, Kasvisto of the Green, Rohto the Mender, hear my plea," she said. "Strengthen my resolve, clear my eyes, steady my hands. Help me keep those in my care in the world of the living." She could feel the power flowing upwards into her hands, making her, not just Fern, but Taitaja as well.

So. The raivo had squeezed Mera's chest, which despite her armor likely caused cracked or broken bones; she'd have to be watched carefully to see how severe the injuries were. Fern hoped that Mera didn't have internal injuries of the type that required extensive and immediate re-building. There were very few taitaja with the skills for such repair: those not part of the court were based in the Greenkype and the larger cities, days away, although the distance hardly mattered when such injuries killed in minutes. If Mera was still alive by the time she got out of the cave, Fern knew what to look for and how to treat it.

She opened the basket and took a glass reed from the basket's storage spine, checking to make sure that it hadn't broken in transit. Two hand's-lengths long, carefully polished, with an angled tip, it was used to rebalance airflow inside the body by releasing errant air or blood. The inner walls of the reed were carpeted with fine hairs that only allowed air or liquid to move one way, away from the pointed tip. Like everyone at the Greenkype, Fern had plenty of practice in the technique, as several of the frailer elder instructors were very prone to the condition.

She had just set the reed and a fresh bottle of menstruum on the narrow shelf above the table when her connection to Nismaya returned in a jumble of whispers and brief flashes of light. A stinging cap of pain slid over the top of her head and along the side of her face, and her right knee began to ache. Although it made her wince and grip the edge of the table, Fern welcomed the pain, because it told her that Nismaya wasn't dead, and had only abrasions and bruises.

So that was Mera and Nismaya. Honorblade… It wasn't as likely that she had anything broken other than the wrist of her sword arm. She'd have bruises on her throat, but if she made it out of the cave on her own and wasn't having trouble breathing, she'd recover with minimal healing. As for the flames on her hand, it had probably been another protector spell, but even if it had been a firestone, treating the burn was simple. Who else? The third quiver-carrier, the one that Nismaya had seen thrown against the wall when the Imperative spell failed. If she survived that, and being dragged out of the cave, she would be the worst injured by far. Nismaya had not been looking at the fourth defender, so her fate was unknown.

Fern lit a second lantern and hung it from a root near the ceiling in the corner near the hot spring. Honorblade had wanted her to set up in the longhouse, but there was no time. Fern moved the two cots further from the door, spread the furs on the ground, and double checked that she had restocked her apron.

And then, despite Nismaya's ache in her knee, she ran outside to watch for the survivors.

* * *

Five figures were coming out of the woods.

Five, not seven. Leaning on each other for support, and all walking, but only five.

Fern hurried toward them. From the corner of her eye she saw several people running down the hill from the longhouse.

Nismaya was limping between two defenders, one un-injured, and one with an ugly, ichor-stained gash across her shoulder and back. There was blood on Nismaya's face, and on the cloth tied around her eyes, but Fern could see that it was from cuts to her scalp. Fern lifted the cloth to check the older woman's eyes—a bit challenging since Fern had to look through the image of her own face—but Nismaya's eyes responded to the bright snow-light evenly, with none of the signs of serious injury.

Good. Fern pulled the cloth back into place and then turned to Honorblade and Mera, who had been moving more slowly. Honorblade's left hand was severely burned, and her neck was already mottled with bruises.

Mera, who looked relatively uninjured, pointed to the injured quiver-carrier. "Rohkis," she gasped, "tried to… retrieve one… of the… bodies."

"Stop talking," Honorblade growled. "Save your breath for breathing."

Mera smiled weakly, then swayed and nearly fell.

"Get her to the sod house," Fern commanded the protectors who'd come down from the longhouse. "Move as fast as you can without jostling her."

The largest protector nodded, picked Mera up, and began to hurry toward the sod house with long, smooth strides.

"Anyone who does that to me gets stabbed," Honorblade said.

"No need," Fern said, "you're not dying." Shocked and a little elated, Fern  turned and began to run toward the sod house.

Her vision doubled for a moment as Nismaya lifted the blindfold—for it was that more than a bandage—and Fern saw herself through Nismaya's eyes. What a sight she was! Hatless, coatless, bootless—she hadn't even realized she was still barefoot!—hair streaming behind her like an explosion of spiralweed. As she overtook the protector carrying Mera, Nismaya closed her eyes and pulled the bandage back down.

Fern reached the sod house. She propped the door open, and took a deep breath. She could do this. She knew how to treat them. Mera first, then Honorblade, then the defender, then Nismaya. They were not going to die.

The Greenwardens with Mera arrived a moment later.  "Put her on the table," Fern said, "uninjured side toward the wall. Take off her chest armor. I have to see that wound." As the protector was doing this, Honorblade, Nismaya, and the two defenders arrived. Fern pointed to the cots. "Sit!"  Fortunately, Nismaya was keeping the blindfold on, and was close enough that the echo from double-hearing was hardly noticeable.

Fern glanced at the armor as it was lifted away. A section had crumpled just enough to make a metal peak, and pierced Mera's side when the raivo squeezed her. Now Mera was coughing, and her skin was turning blue, which meant her breathing was failing.

Fern pulled up Mera's armor padding and undershirt, then felt carefully along the ribs around the puncture wound, tapping with her fingertips until she found the problem.

"Blood and outside air have entered her chest," she said as took the glass reed and the menstruum from the shelf. She took a new tuft of bucketmoss, and wet it with a few drops of the menstruum. "They are preventing her from inhaling fully." Fern swabbed the end of the glass reed, and then Mera's side. "Hold her still," she ordered the protector, then told Mera, "This is going to hurt. But it has to be done for you to breathe."

Mera, whose eyes were starting to roll up into her head, nodded weakly.

Fern carefully pressed the tip of the reed in just above a rib near the puncture wound. A small amount of bloody froth appeared inside the reed.

"There's a bowl by the hotspring," Fern said, "Someone bring it here." She sucked on the end of the reed, coaxing the blood and air down. "Sammal! I need stickywax!"

There was a rustle in the basket. Sammal dashed out onto the table, dropped a small orange-yellow blob near Fern's free hand, then disappeared in a green blur.

Fern pinched off a tiny piece of the wax and began to roll it between her fingers. Once it was warm, she would use it to hold the reed in place.

"Here." Honorblade was holding out the bowl—in her burned hand.

 _Broken wrist confirmed,_ Fern thought as she took the bowl and put it  on the table under the end of the reed. She watched long enough to make certain that Mera's chest was draining properly before she moved to stand next to Mera's head. "Let me give you some breath," she said. She pinched the protector's nose shut, then blew several mouthfuls of air into her mouth.

After a few rounds of this Mera seemed to be breathing a little easier, so Fern cast a Veil. Mera had some deep bruises, and a small crack in one of her hip bones which Fern could tend to later, but for now she was out of danger.

Honorblade was still standing at the end fo the table. "No shoes?" she asked Fern. "Do you draw more strongly from the earth that way?"

"No, I just forgot to put them on," Fern said, putting Mera into mendsleep.

The expression on Honorblade's face was worth any reprimand Fern might receive.

.

After checking on Nismaya to make she was sleeping normally—and she was—Fern turned to Honorblade.

The protector's burned hand was easily treated. The fact that she had used her burned hand to hold the bowl suggested that Fern was right, that the wrist of her other hand was injured, and so it was. Fern aligned and applied a fixing spell, then channeled moonglow to mend the fractures. Honorblade only glanced at what Fern was doing; most of the time she was watching Mera, and when Fern moved to take care of Rohkis, Honorblade went to stand by her.

"My bed isn't very comfortable," Mera said weakly.

"Your bed is a table," Honorblade replied.

Mera started to chuckle, then groaned.

"Try not to laugh," Fern said.

"Not a problem. Ava has no sense of humor."

"Damn right I don't."

Fern made a cragbark tincture and began to clean the raivo ichor from Rohkis' wound. She glanced over at Honorblade just in time to see her brush stray hairs out of Mera's face. A tender, private moment.

"Can we move her?" Honorblade asked.

"If it's done carefully," Fern said. Rohkis winced; Fern made an apologetic face and stopped until Rohkis motioned to her to continue. "Did you want to take her to the longhouse?"

"Is that the best place for her to recover?"

"No, the best place would be somewhere warm and dry and quiet, like The Greenkype."

"Not an option." The disapproval was back in Honorblade's voice.

"But since we can't leave yet," Fern said, channeling burjar to stop the bleeding from Rohkis' freshly-cleaned wound, "I think here is better than the longhouse."

"Why?"

"It gets humid in here when the door is closed, but I can control that—unlike the longhouse, which is going to be smoky at night, and noisy and drafty during the day." She gestured to Rohkis to stretch out on the cot and rest, but the defender shook her head, stood, bowed to Fern and Honorblade, then left. "Also, I can pay closer attention to Mera here. Make and apply remedies faster."

"Here then," Honorblade said. "Does it have to be the table?"

Fern checked the glass reed. It was nearly empty, which meant that most of the blood and air had probably been released. "No, we can move her to a cot. I'll ask them to help."

She went to the door and opened it; as she'd expected, all of the Greenwardens—even Ilda—were waiting outside. Two held folded Greenwarden blankets. "I could use a hand moving Mera," she told them.

After Mera and her bowl had been safely transferred to a cot and covered with a blanket, Honorblade asked the protectors to wait outside.

Honorblade herself looked as if she intended to stay, so Fern made a fresh batch of copperthorn tea. "You can share this," she said to Mera as she handed the tea to Honorblade, "but little sips. We don't want you coughing."

That left only Nismaya to be tended to. Fern felt oddly shy about treating her in front of Honorblade and Mera—or perhaps it was just that the surge of energy she'd drawn on to tend the wounded had ebbed, leaving her feeling shaky.

"You knew they'd be outside," she said as Fern handed her the cup.

Fern shrugged. "It's where I'd be, if I was a protector." She went to the stone basin, took out the apron she'd been soaking, and carried it to the empty space next to the table to wring it out, then hung it on a carved hook attached to one of the sod house's wall supports. Honorblade's scrutiny made her uncomfortable.

"I may have misjudged you," Honorblade said.

Fern didn't know how to respond to this. Certainly part of her, the part that had been hurt by Honorblade's scorn, wanted to retort, "Yes, you did!" but she knew that a better response was, "No, you didn't," because as harsh as Honorblade's criticism had been, there was truth in it. Of course, acknowledging that would also be admitting she'd been listening while Honorblade thought she was asleep. She wasn't willing to push what was probably temporary goodwill that far. "Misjudged?"

"I didn't think you could had it in you to handle an assignment like this," Honorblade said. "Most people don't understand that being a Greenwarden healer is very different than being a village herb granny, who rarely sees anything more serious than a broken arm. A Greenwarden healer has to be observant, think fast, make hard choices, and act boldly. I saw that today. You were able to tell in an instant that Mera had the most dangerous injury, even though she looked the least wounded. Without you…"  Honorblade looked down at Mera.

Fern looked away, awash with sudden guilt. "Go get some rest," she told Honorblade. "I'll watch over her for you."

 

 

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_first post 31 March 2018; revised 19 April_

© 2017, 2018


	4. Act III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CONCLUSION: Fern's actions have earned Honorblade's respect, but it is a hollow victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again to **Bryn** for beta.

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fter Honorblade left, Fern double-checked Mera's reed and bowl, moved the lantern next to Nismaya's cot, took a cleaning cloth from her basket, and then scooped some water to tend to her last patient.

Honorblade's words— _You were able to tell in an instant that Mera had the most dangerous injury, even though she looked the least wounded_ —were ringing in Fern's ears. _A Greenwarden healer has to be observant, think fast, make hard choices, and act boldly._

A Greenwarden healer. Isn't that what she'd always wanted to be? She didn't want to tend gardens, or live her life in a tiny town where no one needed her and nothing ever happened. She wanted to go to where people were dying and in pain, and save them.

And so here she was. She had done that… except that she _hadn't._ It was easy to appear observant and fast thinking and all the other things Honorblade had named when you'd already seen the injuries. When you'd had long minutes to plan and prepare in relative calm.

Fern sat down on the edge of the cot, gently removed Nismaya's blindfold, and carefully began to clean the blood from her face and hair.

What she'd done was due to her accidental bond with Nismaya. Being able to heal people because of the bond wasn't an accomplishment, because it wasn't honestly earned. It was a trick. No, worse than a trick. A _lie._ She had gained Honorblade's respect through a lie.

Nismaya opened her eyes.

It was still strange to Fern, seeing herself at the same time that she was looking at Nismaya. The lantern shone on opposite sides of their faces, and yet, the combined lantern-lit halves made a whole face, almost fully in the light—and of course, a second fully in shadow.

Wasn't that always the case? A price for every blessing.

Nismaya was falling back asleep; as she did so, she reached out and cupped her hand over Fern's aching knee.

The bond… truly, it was more of a curse. What it had brought her, really? A forced connection to a stranger. A hollow victory. She didn't want any of it. She wanted to be worthy of esteem on her own merits, not because of a spell that had gone wrong.

She closed her eyes and let a few tears escape; then she wiped her face and finished cleaning Nismaya's scrapes and cuts. She rubbed a few drops of fireseed oil into the older woman's knee, but by then Nismaya had fallen asleep, and Fern's pain had faded as well.

After checking Mera's reed, Fern spread one of the furs on the floor between the two cots, wrapped herself in the spare Greenwarden blanket, and lay staring at the ceiling of roots and vines.

What would happen if she— _when_ she—told the truth?

Honorblade would be furious that Fern had tricked her. Fern could also imagine the look of disappointment on Mera's face. Honorblade would report her, of course, and then she'd have to face Abbedissa Bouvardia. She'd lose the few friends she had among the other taitaja at the Greenkype. She'd be banished to the vegetable gardens or the laundry, most likely, not even allowed to tend to herbs.

She could already feel humiliation pressing her down like an icy stone. It made her want to run away. Go somewhere no one knew her.

Find a village that needed an herb granny.

That wasn't what she wanted, though. What if she didn't tell? Nismaya had already voluntarily accommodated herself to the inconvenience. Fern could continue to reap the benefits of the bond until she left Lowdewton—likely it would fall off with sufficient distance—and after that she wouldn't need it. By then she'd have Honorblade's commendations, confidence, and experience. What was the harm in keeping it a secret? Fern groaned and put her hands over her face.

She was startled when Mera spoke. "Is the stick in my ribs coming out anytime soon?"

Fern wiped her face and tried not to sniffle. Nismaya had already seen her cry; she didn't need Mera to see it as well. "Let me take a look."

Satisfied that the glass reed was no longer needed, Fern removed it and began to heal the entrance wound.

"Tell me what's wrong," Mera said. "I've got plenty of time to listen."

Fern hesitated. Mera seemed kinder than Honorblade, less forbidding than Honorblade, but once she told her, the bond with Nismaya wouldn't be a secret anymore.

"Whatever it is, you don't need to carry it alone." She paused. "And you don't need to tell me if you don't want to, but I wanted to you know that the Greenwardens are here for you. We always help each other."

Fern went to the table, cleaned and stowed the glass reed, and then, hesitantly, between demonstrating breathing techniques that would speed recovery, she began to tell her everything. About the "talker's tea" lichen Kirja had given her, and what it had done to her and Nismaya after being accidentally activated after the attack in the loghouse. She told Mera how the bond had allowed her to see what happened in the offering chamber through Nismaya's eyes, and how it helped her prepare to treat the wounded.

"That's amazing." Mera folded her hands over her stomach and took a few extra-deep breaths, as Fern had taught her. "But I don't see the problem."

"I don't deserve her praise!"

"Why not?" Mera said. "Yes, you saw the fight, and that gave you a little help in figuring out what might be wrong with us, but it gave you no advantage afterwards. That part was all you, wasn't it? You used your knowledge to treat us."

"But I had extra time to pick the right procedure!"

Mera waved a hand. "So? That's not really important."

"It is to me!"

Mera pressed her lips together, then said after a moment, "Let's talk about what's really knotting you up. You want to tell her the truth, but you're worried about how she'll react. Is that right?"

Fern nodded.

"Let me tell you a few things. It may not look like it, but you two are a lot alike. It's true," Mera said as Fern made a disbelieving face. "She's just as dedicated to helping people and saving lives as you are, and just as upset when anyone under her protection is hurt or dies. She's gutted over those two defenders."

Fern was ashamed that she'd not given any thought to the two who hadn't made it out of the cave.

"But it will take a while to earn her trust back if she feels you've tricked her or lied to her," Mera continued. "Now, I don't feel you did, although it would have been better if you'd told her about the bond before we went in the cave. The best thing now is to be completely honest with her. Sooner rather than later." Mera shifted again. "Ugh. I really can't stand lying down another minute. Can I at least sit up?"

"Of course."

As Fern helped her, Mera noticed the bandage on Fern's hand. "That's from the attack in the longhouse. Why haven't you healed it?"

"Taitaja aren't supposed to heal themselves until everyone else is taken care of."

"That's absurd."

"It's tradition, not law," she said, folding up one of the furs, then wrapping it into a blanket to make a sitting-pillow. "I can if it's serious." She made a final adjustment. "There. That helps some, right?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Any other advice? Things I should say or not say when I talk to Honorblade?"

"That talkers' tea plant," Mera said thoughtfully. "Do you have any left?"

"A little." Fern went to the basket, and removed the lid. "Sammal, did you put the blue-and-purple-spotted-green-and-white somewhere safe?"

After a moment the otter crept out of hiding, rummaged near the bottom of the basket, and then climbed up to give Fern the piece of lichen.

"Sammal's your familiar?" Mera asked. "I'm glad to know I didn't imagine seeing it earlier." As Fern showed her the lichen, she asked, "Is this plant known to the Arboretum?"

"I don't know. I don't think so… well, at least I've never seen or heard of it. Novices aren't expected to keep up with new plants until they become sanctioned cures."

"Then it might be the most important thing to come out of this mission," Mera said. "Even more valuable than Kirja perfecting her Murre."

Fern looked at Nismaya, who was still sleeping. "I wish I knew Murre," she said, "so that I could apologize to her, too."

"Why?"

"For forcing this on her."

Mera shook her head. "It's true she didn't consent to the bonding, but neither did you. And you can't know how she feels about the situation. Maybe she enjoys being bonded to you."

"I don't see—" Fern stopped herself. No need to subject Mera to her self-pity.

Mera looked as if she were going to press the matter, but fortunately there was a knock on the door.

Honorblade, Ilda, and a Greenwarden who Fern didn't know entered, each carrying a bowl of stew. "You haven't eaten all day, have you?" Honorblade asked Fern. "We thought we'd save you a trip up to the longhouse."

"I… no." Fern took the bowl, then set it on the table. "Protector Honorblade, there's something I have to tell you first."

Honorblade instantly looked at Mera.

"I'm fine, Ava," Mera said, taking the bowl of stew Ilda held out. "It's not about me."

Fern gathered her resolve and gave Honorblade an abbreviated version of what she had told Mera, showing her the lichen as she did so.

Honorblade, whose face gradually became stony as the story went on, folded her arms when Fern was done. "When did you plan in telling me this?"

"She's telling you now," Mera said.

Honorblade gave her an irritated look, then asked Fern, "Is there any reason I shouldn't send you back to the Greenkype tonight?"

Fern felt as if she'd been slapped, and hung her head. So this was it? This was the end? She was considered a failure, despite saving Kirja and Sininen and Mera? "I will leave cures and instructions for everyone who is recovering," she said. "How soon should I be ready to go?"

Honorblade eyed her up and down, then left.

Mera studied the closed door. "Why didn't you tell her you wanted to stay? She would have respected that."

"I don't know," Fern said. "I didn't think it was an option."

"Sure it was," Mera said. "She didn't say 'Pack your bags, I'm sending you back,' she said, 'Give me a reason why you should stay.' She was giving you a choice."

Mera was right. Why hadn't she seen it?

"You… you do want to stay, don't you?"

"Of course," Fern said, but—did she? Lowdewton was cold and ugly and frightening. She hated that she couldn't speak the language. She was surrounded by strangers, and knowing that any mistakes she made might cause people to die was a heavier responsibility than she had expected.

She hadn't realized that Honorblade was offering her the option to stay, because part of her was ready to leap at the excuse to leave.

"Give her a while to cool off," Mera said. "Eat something, take a nap for an hour or two, then go up to the longhouse. If she growls at you, tell her I sent you up there to talk to Kirja. Find out where she got the lichen."

"I can't sleep yet. You and Nismaya—"

"We'll be fine," Mera said. "We'll wake you if anything happens."

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Fern did as Mera suggested, forcing herself to eat even though the food sat in her belly like a stone, then wrapping herself in the remaining Greenwarden blanket and curling up between the cots.

She had prepared all her life for this. Why was it so difficult?

Had Abbedissa Bouvardia been right? Was she only willing to help others if she could do so from a place where everything was easy, and everything was known?

If so, that meant that, for all her years of training, for all her fantasies of being Kasvisto's instrument and healing the world, she was not cut out to be a taitaja. Or at least, certainly not for the Greenwardens.

Fern pressed her fist against her mouth as tears began to brim up. She scrambled to her feet. She had to get out of the sod house before she cried again.

"Is something wrong?" Mera asked.

Fern shook her head. "I'll run up to the longhouse now and talk to Kirja." At least that was one thing she could do right. She tucked the lichen into her pocket, pulled on her boots and coat, and hurried outside.

The clear sky of morning was gone, filled with clotted storm clouds that made the late afternoon look almost as dark as night. Everything was gray and black, drained of color; the snow had lost all the delicate beauty of sunrise. Atop the village's central hill, the mass of the longhouse crouched like a beast.

It was too much. She couldn't go up there yet. All the Greenwardens gathered around the first fire would stop what they were doing and stare as she walked in; all conversation would stop as she walked by, and whispers would sprout behind her.

She had seen a hollow on the far side of the sod house. Out of sight of the longhouse, but close enough to Mera and Nismaya if they needed her.

She brushed the snow from a fallen tree and sat.

Why did everything she reached for either recede or turn to ash? What reason was there to keep reaching?

Acacia never had that problem. Sometimes, Fern had envied how easily, how naturally, Acacia interacted with strangers. She treated everyone she met as if they were already her friend—and of course they were, because everyone who met her loved her. She had the amazing ability to shift for each person, charming them with just the right variant of herself while still remaining Acacia. She had been like the shivertrees in the Eastern provinces, where what looked like a grove or even an entire forest was in reality a single plant, each tree having burst up through the soil from the far-reaching roots of the mother. There had been a hundred Acacias, all subtly different.

She missed all of them.

She huddled over, trying to stay warm, trying to comfort herself through this feeling of being worthless and utterly alone. With the wind at her back it felt as though nature itself was trying to shove her out of the world.

When she finally raised her head she saw the raivo, swaying five steps away.

.

She was going to die. Even though it hadn't attacked yet, she knew she was going to die.

She supposed she should at least try to run, or scream for help, but there was something about the way the creature looked that made her pause. Before, in both the longhouse and the cave, it had been a smooth, featureless, blue-black pillar; now it was smaller, a tangled mass of ropy strands in constant motion, sliding and parting and heaving in agitation. Had it been shredded as it forced its way past the iron spikes? Something glinted in the middle of the writhing: an oval blue stone. Sininen's necklace?

Noticing this, the raivo no longer looked like rotting kelp tossed by the wind, but a faceless old woman with gnarled hands and long stringy hair. Not a monster, but simply someone in pain.

"Let me help," Fern said. "Let me see where it hurts."

The raivo became even more agitated, lashing a dozen strands back and forth. Ichor dripped onto the snow, and yet there was no attack.

Fern tossed out a Veil.

She was at the bottom of a lightless ocean, trapped under fathoms of ice, crushed by the uncaring void…

And then she was free. Kneeling in the snow, her chest aching from where the raivo had pushed her, her heart pounding. Her breath came in panicked, painful rasps, but she welcomed it. Breathing was a miracle, a revelation.

"No, you are not alone," she said. "I am here." She unwrapped the bandage around her hand, then stretched the skin enough to reopen her wound. Taking the tiny piece of lichen from her apron, she pressed it into her palm until it melted into her blood, then stood and held out her hand. "I am here. See?"

The raivo went entirely still, then reached out a bony finger to touch the center of Fern's palm.

* * *

_Long ago there were two friends. During the day they fished, and hunted, and climbed the mountains; at night they slept in each other's arms._

_When the first began to have the visions, her friend taught herself to have them as well, but while they came softly to the first, to the friend they were as skewers of bone._

_The time came when the first was chosen. She was treated as precious, with her every word treasured. The world rang with praise as she learned how to keep the people safe, and under this warmth the first grew in stature and grace._

_In all this, however, her friend was left behind. No one held out cupped hands for her words; never was she given the chance to lend her strength. No one cared as she withered and faded and shivered in the cold. When she was no longer nimble enough to climb or swift enough to hunt, she tried to serve as best she could, catching and scaling fish until her hands bled._

_When the friend entered the hall of the ancestors she hoped to find companionship at last, but she was denied even there…_

* * *

The alienation, the loneliness, the envy and jealousy,… grief stabbed at her, and guilt, and the weight of failure. To know your voice would never be heard, to know your outstretched hand would never be taken…

_She left you. You did nothing wrong, and yet she left you._

Fury rose rise in her throat like bile.

_Why did you leave me? I did everything I could, yet it wasn't enough!_

Fern clutched her stomach, feeling as though she was going to be sick. Had those been… her words, or the raivo's?

The raivo made an eerie humming sound. Was it trying to comfort her?

She wasn't sure how long they remained like that, but then there were faint shouts, and the clattering sound of armored people running. Fern turned.

Honorblade and Nisamaya, followed by Mera, Kirja, Sininen, and the rest of the Greenwardens.

It took Fern a moment to realize that she was not seeing herself, even though Nismaya's eyes were open and uncovered. Had their bond broken when Fern used the lichen to communicate with the raivo?

This was a fresh pain; for all that it had been difficult to adjust to, she had started to enjoy seeing Lowdewton through Nismaya's eyes.

"What are you doing?" Honorblade demanded. "What's going on?"

Fern tried to explain, but couldn't. She held up her free hand, hoping they would understand.

Somehow, Nismaya did. She put her arm out, stopping Honorblade. "She is together," she said in strongly-accented Kieli.

 _"Together?"_ Honorblade said. "Together with what?"

Mera put her hand on Honorblade's shoulder. "The raivo, I think."

"How is that even possible?"

Fern turned back to the raivo.

_What do you want?_

_The pain of destruction will be shared._

_Yes._

As Fern walked toward Honorblade and Nismaya, Honorblade pushed against Nismaya's arm.

"Wait," Nismaya said.

"What are we waiting for?" Honorblade asked.

"Wait," Nismaya said again.

Fern pointed to Nismaya's dagger.

After a moment, Nismaya put it into Fern's hand, then looked expectantly at Honorblade.

Honorblade frowned, then shrugged and handed over her other sword. "This should be interesting."

A weapon in each hand, Fern walked back to the raivo. She knew what was needed, but she was sad, and afraid.

_Set me free._

Honorblade's sword sank into the raivo's side almost to the hilt, and Fern doubled over in pain as the raivo shieked.

_Do not stop! Set me free!_

She tried stab it with Nismaya's dagger as well, but the pain was too great, and the dagger fell from her hand.

She heard the sound of the others rushing up, but she could not see anything but a field of red.

"It's killing her!" she heard Mera shout.

Fern shook her head violently. How could she make them understand? It was what they wanted. It was something they had to endure.

And so she screamed soundlessly as a dozen more swords sank into the raivo, and thrashed in a death agony until at last the pain was gone, leaving only a necklace with a blue stone in the middle of a muddy patch of snow.

.

She was dimly aware of Nismaya lifting her from the snow and carrying her back to the longhouse, of being wrapped in dry clothes and blankets and being fed warm broth until she stopped shaking.

She might have slept. She woke to find Nismaya still holding her.

Honorblade and Mera approached. Fern steeled herself for a discussion of when she would be leaving.

Honorblade asked, "Feeling well enough to talk?"

"Yes."

"I've never seen anything like that," she said. "How did you know what to do?"

"I didn't," Fern said. "But… she was in pain."

"She?" Mera asked.

"Fish Grandmother," Nismaya murmured.

"I think that she and the elder world-walker were childhood friends," Fern said, "but they grew apart. Over the years she withdrew into herself." Fern stopped, letting the words sink into her. "She… she died friendless and resentful. After she was buried, she began consuming the spirits of those who had cast her aside."

"How do you know all this?" Honorblade asked. "Did she actually talk to you?"

"No, not talk… " Fern wasn't sure how to explain. "Her pain was so strong, her emotions were so strong, I could… it was like seeing her memories." And she could see mine, Fern thought, closing her eyes and spilling fresh tears. "When the elder world-walker ordered the village to stop burying anyone in the cave, she felt abandoned yet again."

"So she killed the world walker."

"The necklace," Honorblade said, nodding. "The necklace was a reminder."

"Yes," Fern said. "There are some things that even death cannot make us forget."

"What you did… well, no taitaja has ever tried anything like that before," Honorblade said. "I hope you will consider working with the Greenwardens again."

"What did I tell you, Ava?" Mera said. "I told you she was good." She took a deep slow breath, in and out, as Fern had taught her, then said, "Look at how much better I feel!"

"Don't overdo it," Fern said, failing to sound as stern as she wanted to be. "You need rest for two or three weeks at least."

"I'll make sure she stays in bed," Honorblade said, and gave Mera a sly look.

And then Nismaya rested her chin on Fern's shoulder, and when Kirja and Sininen joined them Fern did not feel envious at all.

* * *

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It was her favorite spot. From here, the path arced down and away through a tumble of hills that eventually merged into the backbone of the distant mountains. The sight of the far off peaks, white snow and dark gray stone, always made her smile.

She slipped off her mittens and undid the top buttons of her coat, reaching inside to tickle Sammal just as her new mountain familiar came into sight dragging a large piece of spotted blue-violet lichen.

"Oh, that's a nice one, Naava!" Fern said, hurrying forward to add the specimen to her collection bag. "Is that it? Are you done for the day?"

In reply the lichen-otter scampered up the sleeve of Fern's coat and slipped inside her collar. There was a brief scuffle when Naava tried to snuggle against Sammal, and Sammal objected to Naava's cold nose and paws, but the two otters settled down quickly, and Fern re-buttoned her coat.

Then she put her mittens back on, shouldered the bag, and began to descend.

Nismaya met her half way, with warm hearthbread, and an hour later they walked across the bridge leading out of Lowdewton and waited on the side of the road until Provisioner Matkahuolto's wagon creaked into view.

"Pickup for the Greenkype?" Matkahuolto asked, trailing blue smoke from her pipe as she reined her oxdogs to a stop.

Fern handed the bag of lichen up to her. "Yes, for the Greenkype."

"You coming too?"

"Not this week," Fern said.

"Alright then." Matkahuolto clicked her tongue, and the oxdogs began to move again.

Fern closed her eyes and held her face up to the wind for a moment, savoring the rich smell of the pipe smoke; then Nismaya took her hand, and they began to walk back toward the village.

No, she couldn't leave yet. She was just starting to get the hang of Murre, and there were still things she needed to learn how to say.

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_~ The End ~_

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_ completed 18 April 2018; revised 26 April 2018 _

© 2017, 2018

**Author's Note:**

> When **violsva** 's prompts for the Femslash 2017 challenge initially flew by as a pinch hit, I happened to be looking at the following prompts from square (1,4) of my stacked bingo cards: Gen bingo: _snow and ice;_ Trope bingo: _soulbonding/soulmates;_ Hurt/Comfort bingo: _therapy;_ Ladies (femslash) bingo: _silence_. Inspiration struck, and, well, here we are.
> 
> Thanks once again to my stalwart betas, **Bryn** and **bitfibber** , to **Mipeltaja** for guidance regarding Finnish, to **SneakyDevil** of the r/fanfiction Discord for a key suggestion, to **Stinger** for idea-bouncing, and finally to **Violsva** for such an evocative selection of prompts.   
>  The lovely Sammal art is by [Ajelo](http://ajelo-draws.tumblr.com).
> 
> If you came here from [The Cunning Woman and the Knight-Captain](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12288801): Although that shorter story is set in the universe I had developed for this story, the two stories are based on different prompts, and thus the plot, characterization, and relationship of the Knight and the Healer differ.
> 
> As far as I could tell, all plant names here are fictional. If in fact any do refer to actual plants, please do not take what's written here as valid medical practice. (Actually, don't take _anything_ here as valid practice.)
> 
> Please tell me what you think of the story—I love hearing from readers!


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